bronze legacy
by marblesharp
Summary: Whoever believed a hero dying young was the end of a tragedy never met his son. Finn Odair learns that genetics aren't a curse.


AN: For haka_nai's prompt, "Finnick&Annie's Son: _I have __my mother's mouth and__ my father's eyes; on my face they are still together,_" over at BreadetCircuses ficathon on LiveJournal. Many thanks to Estoma for beta-ing! I own nothing.

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**bronze legacy**

"Wait, isn't that…?" Tyde starts above him. Finn lazily turns his head in her lap towards the television - then sits up, alert.

Finnick Odair's war trident has been deactivated. It was the one he died with, not the other ones he could have died with but didn't. The bracelet that signalled the trident to return to the owner required his DNA to work. Without Finnick, it couldn't function, unaffected despite years of tampering after its creator's death. Beetee Ma made it specially for him, one of the most famous weapons used in the war twenty years ago, next to the Mockingjay Bow - also disabled, by request - and the parachute bombs, which have been illegal since their single use. The trident will join them in some museum.

The news report briefly covers the event but of course they must show old footage of the weapon in action, just days before its ultimate failure. Finnick wielded it with a vicious kind of grace - still an impressive sight today.

There's no footage of his death, though, being torn apart by mutts somewhere deep in the sewers of District Fourteen. For all it was worth in terms of money and technological upgrade, the war trident still didn't save him.

_A shame_, the news presenters lament, _that nothing else remains of the young hero and his duty in the rebellion_.

Finn has never touched a trident before. His mom is adamant he is never to grasp one - for whose sake, he's not certain. He wonders dubiously if the war trident would have worked for him.

He's a lot like his dad, he's told.

Sometimes Finn finds that hard to believe since he only sees him at his most legendary. Finnick Odair lives on through solemn, lambasting Hunger Games documentaries and war propos like his famous divulgence of the victor prostitution and other covert transgressions.

But Finn - Finn's not really a hero. Unlike Finnick, he's never fought in a televised arena battle or a war or brought down an oppressive government - he's just roped into the fame of his parents' achievements. Honestly, Finn wouldn't want to handle a trident even if he was allowed to.

Though Finn does share a similar passion for the ocean as his dad. He works as a lifeguard during swimming's offseason with Tyde for the pay and the excuse to be at the beach as long as possible. He needs the briny air, needs to be immersed in endless blue-green, suspended in time until he feels like another person. He looks like his dad, too, more so than his mom.

_Those are my eyes_, he thinks of the man onscreen, both proud and remorseful. _And I have your voice; I could have been mistaken for you over the phone all the time. We would've gone fishing, and you'd love me so much, but you're _not here.

Finn loves the man on the screen. But he'll never really know him as a dad - _his_ dad - when he was only alive long enough to be a tortured, hopeful young man forced to be too much. The camera only shows so much yet it's all Finn has now, all he allows himself. He doesn't ask for stories anymore because it hurts his mom, and Johanna's memories of her best friend are tainted by the Games, the whoring, the rebellion.

His dad's face is replaced by another as Tyde wordlessly, awkwardly changes the channel. She doesn't look at Finn. She doesn't understand, nor can she discern what will upset him and what will leave him yearning.

As Tyde chuckles along to the sitcom they're watching, sounding a little forced, he nudges her side. He hopes she knows he wants to stay longer but the slim space between her curtains is too dark. Not dark like midnight; dark like _my mom's going to worry herself into a panic attack if I'm not home in like, five minutes_. The television drones apologetically and the couch that always seems to be involved whenever the ocean isn't, creaks as he stands.

Tyde sighs, walks him to the door. "Wait." She stops him with her hand on the doorknob, the other on his arm. Their parting kiss cannot be outside as it's not a camera kiss, all passion and desperate, scrambling limbs or even tenderness and casual intimacy. It's a little sad, Finn thinks. Like there should be more and there just _isn't_. But his parents fell in love early so he has to as well, according to the media.

He's nineteen and unsure. At nineteen, his parents were already legends.

When he leaves, he avoids walking through town. The midsummer anniversary of the Hunger Games is approaching, the cameras might already be here, and he resembles both his parents enough to attract unwanted attention. He goes to the beach a little ways from the marina and trudges up the stairs to the former Victors' Village while the ocean roars in his ears.

The original houses have long lost their sophistication, the recently built ones matching their stylish yet not quite magnificent quality, but the bloody price for their inhabitance sets them apart from the rest. Technically, Finn doesn't deserve his home. The family is evicted after their victor relative dies. It was his dad's house. His mom wanted to live there rather than her own house, for whatever reason, maybe the same reason why he's branded with a dead man's name. He doesn't know anything about his maternal family, and he thinks that's part of her logic as well.

"Hey, Odair! Hey! Over here!"

He curses, hurrying up his front steps.

The reporter is old and ugly with a pudgy neck. A camera suit trails him. As the paparazzo snaps too many pictures behind him, Finn resists doing anything that would be deemed as a breakdown or a late delinquent phase of adolescence on gossip shows.

He ignores the cameras but then there are the questions. They follow him onto the porch. "What are you doing out so late, Finn? Seeing a special someone? And just how does it feel knowing this year you'd be exempt from the reaping if the rebellion failed? How is your mother - she still insane? Are she and Johanna Mason romantically involved? Have you fallen in love with anyone yet?" presses the reporter. The next question, "If your father were alive today, would he be proud of you?" is always the most persistent amidst the waves of intrusive queries.

It doesn't upset him like it used to when he was younger, but it bothers Finn nonetheless when they use Finnick to trigger him. Finn just grits his teeth. He's learned to never say anything to them.

However, Johanna - yes, _the_ Johanna Mason - does. She's carrying an armful of logs and a playful, dangerous smirk. Her body has stayed sharp in middle age, her features still pointed. "He sure would. But he'd be damn disappointed in you, Calvin. A week early, aren't you? Not even the Capitol came to the districts that early, and they _lived_ for the Hunger Games."

Finn escapes through the front door as Johanna continues to heckle the reporter, informing him of the recent breakout of robberies downtown that no one has investigated yet. The press hates her. She's an explicit product of the past they so often condemn who keeps reminding them that Panem hasn't actually changed without the aid of the law, not some widespread humanitarian movement.

In the living room, Annie Odair is frowning down at her current project. She took up her knitting talent again years ago. Finn isn't sure why she stopped, why she would stop; her hands are quick and steady and her mind is clear whenever she works. Still, she's worried.

When she hears Finn walk into the room, she smiles up at him in relief from her overstuffed armchair. Her green eyes are nevertheless tight with concern.

"Hi, Mom," says Finn.

"You were gone for almost the whole day." Annie furrows her brow.

"I went over to Ty's after work. Sorry, I'll tell you next time."

Nodding, she continues to knit. "How is Ty?"

Finn crosses the room into the kitchen to grab a peach from a bowl on the table. "Fine." They didn't talk long. "Johanna's going to be on the news soon. District Fourteen's already sent out news crews."

It takes a moment for his mom to place where exactly the crews came from, to translate the city's current title with the imposing old one. With an indignant gasp, Annie abandons her unfinished bag. "That's ridiculous!"

He rolls his eyes in understanding. "I know. Johanna's having fun, though. Besides, it's the only time you guys get that kind of, uh, _acknowledgment_, anymore."

Calmer yet still annoyed, Annie sighs, "You're right, everyone leaves us alone the rest of the time. Regardless, these anniversaries will always be difficult for us. I hope they're prepared in Twelve…" Her nimble fingers finish the thought, clicking the needles.

"Why was Johanna out cutting firewood this late, anyway?" Sitting beside his mom, Finn bites into the peach with a wet squelch. She stops to give him a look, to which he makes an exaggerated show of wiping his chin as he chews.

Annie busies herself again. "Oh, you know how Johanna gets competitive with the neighbors. They're having a bonfire on the beach tomorrow night, and now Johanna wants to have a bonfire tomorrow night, too. She probably wouldn't sleep unless she started stocking up today."

He chuckles because he can just imagine Johanna saying, _Bigger the flames, the better. It won us a rebellion and it'll win me some damn appreciation from those amateur fire-builders over there. Pass me another log, Finn-o_.

As he remembers what those flames could destroy, his grin fades. "They deactivated Dad's war trident today."

"Well, it wasn't any use to us before, and it's no use to us now." At Finn's confounded expression, Annie explains, "It was something he needed to protect himself and the people he loved. And if anyone thinks they're saving the one thing he wanted to leave behind, they didn't know the man I married."

Finn looks away. _But the news presenters are right_, he thinks, bitterly. _T__here's nothing left of Finnick Odair that's not on display. Everything I know about him, everybody else knows as well_.

Annie's next words soften him. "He left us something that can't be shut off, something to keep forever." She strokes his face. "A safer future for our child, and for many other children."

She hasn't spoken about his dad this openly in a while. Finn soaks it in - it's too much. Annie wipes a thumb across his cheek, smearing the teardrop. He mumbles an apology - he's had _nineteen years_ to cry over this loss that feels so fresh and raw now, like a reopened wound - but his mom shushes him.

"And he left me something even better." She smiles, tearing up herself. "People see him when they look at you, Finn. What the reporters see is a familiar handsome face of a martyr and a widow - and that makes for an engrossing tragedy, doesn't it? - but I see the good parts of him that would rather swim or help others swim all day than take up a trident. I like knowing that he's still _here_ somehow, that those good parts are what's left of him. You're our son and your own person, a young man who I love and couldn't be more proud of."

"I love you, too, Mom." They hug, then Annie starts to snicker. He pulls away, uneasy. "Mom?"

She just shakes her head, her dark hand brushing back his bronze hair like an afterthought. "You got peach juice all over my shoulder. Your manners aren't from either of us, they're definitely from Johanna. Wipe your hands - and your mouth."

Later, Johanna calls up the steps and down the hall for Finn, "You can't miss out on watching me kick Capitol ass, kid! Don't you want to see the rest of what I said to that weasel? Am I not your favorite not-aunt? Are you _demeaning my authority?_"

He wants to laugh. He has always suspected she tries to wring that reaction out of him to remind her of an old friend and _his_ perfect, charming laugh. Still, it makes her happy like it makes his mom happy. He heads for the door, laughing his perfect, charming laugh that's exactly like Finnick Odair's.

Yet there's so much of him that isn't. He has a lot of time to figure those parts out.


End file.
